


Amped

by ifonlynotnever



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, London, Lyric-inspired, One Shot, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifonlynotnever/pseuds/ifonlynotnever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no place like London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amped

**Author's Note:**

> For the kinkmeme prompt [here](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/14213.html?thread=76419973#t76419973). I chose a line from "Song for Jacob", by (surprise, surprise!) The Bravery. Happy New Year, kids!

Sherlock breathes in, eyes drifting shut, mouth curving up into a blissed-out smile that makes something in John tighten, makes his tongue dart out and wet his bottom lip in a reflex he can never quite control.

"London," Sherlock says on a breathy exhale, his face still tilted up at the grey sky. "Mmm. Finally."

John snorts, glancing around to see if anyone else is looking at the madman standing stock-still in the middle of the street. "I'm guessing that means you didn't like Kiev, then."

"Ugh. Dull. Horrid. Boring. Never speak of it again." Sherlock takes in another deep breath and opens his eyes. "The air out here is like amphetamines. Have you ever noticed?"

"Like—No?" John's forehead wrinkles. "What are you going on about this time?"

"Amphetamines, John. London air. You've never felt it? You must have, or you'd not have tried to live here on an army pension. Surely you've felt it. It's all over this city." Sherlock's eyes slide closed again. "God, it makes me never want to sleep again."

"That's funny," the doctor says mildly. People are beginning to stare. He nudges Sherlock's immaculately-suited calf with the toe of his trainers. Time to get inside. "You know. Seeing as how you're half asleep right now. In the middle of the street. After—let me guess—three days of living on coffee, adrenaline, and cigarettes. Don't deny it, I can smell them on your coat."

Sherlock smirks, but at least has the grace to look _slightly_ guilty about that last. "Regardless. Amphetamines. I ought to do a study."

John rolls his eyes and shoves his flatmate in the direction of the door to 221-B. "Not now, I hope. Come on, get inside. And welcome home."

Sherlock huffs—but concedes with an, "I _suppose_ it can wait," as he allows John to steer him into the flat and back into their home.


End file.
